The Haunting of Brier Rose

by Simpson, Patricia

  "I couldn't tell in the dark. When I called out, he simply dissipated and funneled into your aura. And that's why I want to look at the black spot—to find out if he has a face."

  "That's preposterous!" She turned away. "I've got better things to do than listen to such—''

  "And I've got better things to do than second-guess you, Rose. So why don't you tell me about the Bastyr family?"

  "I don't want you involved."

  He looked at the back of her russet head, the slope of her shoulder, the curve of her hips, wanting more than anything to draw her back to him. She had felt so right against him last night. Yet if he reached for her, he was sure that she would pull away. He couldn't bear the humiliation and the pain that would cause.

  Instead of responding, he ignored her request to leave and shifted his vision. He let his gaze drift to the side of her head, allowing her hair to go out of focus. Her rainbow-colored aura shimmered with an outer layer of green, accompanied by a light buzzing sound, like the whir of hummingbird wings. The black spot came into view, and Taylor carefully concentrated on it, hoping she wouldn't move until he could inspect the inky blotch.

  In the black spot glowed the oval of a man's face with a waxen complexion and dark eyes, nearly as dark as his own.

  But the eyes of the face in the aura were simian like, lacking visible whites and deeply set in shadow. Below a hooked nose was a stern, thin-lipped mouth that turned down in cruelty. Taylor couldn't tell the man's age, but he was once again struck by the evil emanating from him.

  "Taylor!" Rose whirled, realizing that he was staring at her.

  Taylor blinked back to reality. His lips felt tight and dry, and his heart pounded in his chest.

  "What's wrong?" she demanded.

  "There's a man's face in your aura. Someone evil."

  That got her attention. She lowered the scarf. "What does he look like?"

  "He's got a narrow face. Dark hair, dark eyes. He looks like he could be a real bastard. Know him?"

  Rose draped a hand at the base of her throat. He noticed that her emerald ring was still missing. Then he glanced at her face. She had paled and looked as shocked as he felt.

  "Do you know anyone who might fit that description, Rose?"

  She shook her head too emphatically for Taylor to believe her.

  "Rose, don't run from me."

  She swallowed, and for a moment her eyes locked with his as if she were about to weaken. Then her expression hardened, and she motioned toward the door.

  "You saw what you wanted, now leave. Please."

  Taylor sighed in frustration, aching to crush her in his arms and kiss away her disbelief. He balled his fist and then released it, fighting off the urge to overpower her with his sheer physical size. Once he kissed her, he knew she would surrender to him again. Then he could talk some sense into her and convince her to confide in him. But instead of overpowering her and taking the chance of losing her forever, he squeezed the handle of his cane and left the workroom.

  Taylor spent the rest of the day sequestered in the drawing room downstairs, poring over his books, trying to find out more about auras, certain now that his only hope in dealing with the dark figure would depend on his knowledge of his special sight. He practiced shifting his vision so he could do it with ease. When Bea walked down the hall with a feather duster, he caught sight of her aura in the brief time it took her to pass the open doorway. Heartened by his success, Taylor tried more difficult subjects, such as the flitting sparrows outside the window. While he was staring out the window he noticed four black shapes under the rhododendrons by the herb garden.

  Before he could switch back to his normal vision and discover what the shapes were, he was interrupted by Bea coming in to announce dinner. When he looked back at the rhododendrons he couldn't see anything but curled dried leaves on the ground.

  Shrugging off the incident, Taylor followed Bea out to the dining room. No matter what she thought of him, she still cooked delicious meals for him, and he knew he would miss her cooking once he left Brierwood.

  Just as he finished his after-dinner coffee, he heard the doorbell ring. Taylor turned in his chair, listening intently for the sound of voices, curious to know the nature of Rose's client but aware that his presence would not be appreciated during the transaction. Still, he had to get a look at the man and make sure that Rose received a fair price for her amazing workmanship.

  "Come into the parlor," Bea's voice echoed from the foyer. "And I'll get Miss Quennel."

  Taylor hobbled to the door of the dining room, holding his cane off the floor to keep from making his telltale tapping noise. He poked his head around the doorway of the dining room just in time to see the tall figure of a man walking behind Bea. The man wore a long black overcoat, black pants and polished shoes, and cut an imposing figure. Taylor moved down the hall, wishing he had seen the man's face, and wondered why anyone would wear an overcoat on a warm summer night.

  Taylor heard Bea returning and ducked into the shadows of the stair as she passed by him on her quest to locate Rose. Taylor expected that she was upstairs, taking great pains with her appearance for her influential client. He decided to wait at the foot of the stairs so he could watch her descend.

  There was no way she would turn back, even if he were the one standing at the bottom.

  He didn't usually care what kind of clothes he wore. Jeans and T-shirts were his usual garb. On the job at Jensen's Quality Boats he wore slacks, a tie and a sports jacket, and hated every moment the tie cinched his neck. But now, waiting for Rose and knowing how elegant her visitor was, he wished he had changed into something more attractive than his well-worn jeans and black polo shirt. For some reason he felt in competition with the man who had just entered Brierwood, and he didn't want to come up lacking in Rose's estimation.

  Above him, he heard Bea's excited chatter and the softer tones of Rose's voice as she answered. He heard her step on the stair, looked up and felt heat waft up around his ears.

  Rose was attired in a dark green dress that draped in soft folds nearly to her ankles. Around her willowy waist she had tied an exotic-looking belt made of copper and gilded cording shot with green beads. Her hair hung loose, a glorious nimbus of dancing reds and golds. Her neck and ears flashed with more copper and green, and her feet were bare except for a pair of delicate sandals. Taylor was aware that he held his breath until she reached the last stair.

  Her eyes met his with a cool level gaze.

  "Good luck," he said.

  "Thanks." She held a white cardboard box in her arms, probably for the safe transport of the scarf.

  "Don't let him get away without paying full price for that."

  "I don't intend to."

  "Come along, Rose," Bea urged, taking her elbow and giving Taylor a dark glance. "We don't want to keep him waiting."

  Taylor moved backward, allowing them to pass. He watched Rose walk away with graceful steps. She looked capable and in control, and he had no doubt that she would get top dollar for the scarf. Then she slipped into the parlor, and he heard her greet her client while Bea remained in the hallway. Taylor ran a hand over his chin, battling the urge to eavesdrop and wishing Bea would clear out and let him see what was going on. But she didn't seem eager to return to the kitchen, and he certainly wasn't going to stand there with her like some mismatched cheering section. He gave up and retired to the drawing room and his book.

  But the words in the green book faded as he listened to the voices that carried across the foyer through the open door of the drawing room. Once he even heard Rose laugh—a lovely sound he had never heard her make. Scowling at his own jealousy, he forced himself to ignore the activity in the parlor and trained his attention on the open book in his lap.

  His glance fell on a strange subhead—"Auric Vampires." He scanned the ensuing paragraphs, first in disbelief and then in earnest. According to the book there were beings that fed off the energy of other people, just as vampires in the horror movies o
f his childhood fed off the blood of their victims. Auric vampires were not immortal monsters but merely everyday people who either didn't have enough of their own energy or grew addicted to a higher level of energy than normal. Their "bite" left a wound in the aura, which allowed energy to drain out. Auric wounds rarely healed on their own, and if a person wasn't aware of their wound, they might spend a lifetime in an altered, debilitated state.

  Shaking his head in doubt at what he’d just read, Taylor shut the door, surprised to find Edgar sitting on the back of his wing chair. He hadn't even heard the bird come into the room. Warily, he sat down.

  Edgar cocked his head and hopped closer. Taylor wondered if the raven was thinking about pecking his head.

  "Watch it, buster," he warned.

  Edgar hopped down and rubbed the sides of his beak on the walnut claw that decorated the arm of the chair. Taylor kept a wary eye on the bird, surprised that the creature would come so close to him.

  The bird eyed him and then hopped onto his wrist. Edgar's claws were clammy and soft, and he was careful not to grasp Taylor's flesh too tightly.

  Slowly Taylor lifted the raven to eye level, amazed that the bird trusted him enough to make contact.

  Then Edgar squawked so loudly that Taylor wrenched back in surprise, flinging the raven into the air. The bird flapped out of the room, cawing raucously.

  Taylor jumped to his feet and followed him out to the foyer just as Rose and her client emerged from the parlor. Taylor paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched in disgust as the man slowly drew Rose's hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. He was wearing gloves, which Taylor considered as ridiculous as the overcoat.

  Then the elegant man turned and looked at Taylor. For a moment his stare bore into Taylor's, and Taylor felt as if a hot flashlight beam was tracing his entire body. He had never felt anything like it before. He forced himself to ignore the way the hair rose on his arms and legs and the back of his neck, and concentrated on the man's face. He froze as he recognized the simian eyes, the waxen pallor and the widow's peak in the man's dark hair.

  He was staring at the man from Rose's aura.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Taylor couldn't move, and his calf started to throb. He saw the man walk to the door with Rose flowing beside him. Taylor wanted to shout at her to get away, to run, but his mouth wouldn't open.

  As Rose's client came abreast of Taylor, he nodded slightly. "Good evening," he said, his voice dry and his words tinged with an accent Taylor couldn't place.

  Taylor stood mute, unable to reply. The simian eyes inspected his face with a gaze so intense that he felt as if the man were looking beneath his skin. Taylor was sure he could read amusement in the man's eyes, the same unmerciful interest that cats displayed to their prey. Taylor wanted to punch the sneer from his face, but his arms were like wooden boards hanging from his shoulders.

  He shifted his vision and saw the man's aura streaking all the way to the third-floor balcony in shafts of black—the color of evil, the mark of a psychopath bereft of human feelings, the badge of a demon. With the black aura came the blast of the pipe organ, so loud that Taylor couldn't hear what Rose and her client were saying to him. He could see their mouths moving, but their voices blurred together. With a great effort he shifted his vision back to normal.

  "Are you ill, Mr. Wolfe?" the man asked. "You look pale."

  How did the man know his name? Had Rose been introducing him a moment ago?

  Rose glanced at Taylor, her brows drawn together in concern. "Taylor?"

  He shook his head, trying to warn her with his eyes, but she didn't pick up on his expression.

  "Well, I must be going," the man said.

  "Thank you so much." Rose opened the door. "I hope your lady likes the scarf."

  "Oh, I know she will." He stepped out on the front porch and turned. "She will adore it. Goodbye, Miss Quennel, Mr. Wolfe."

  "Goodbye," she answered. "And watch out on the way to your car. We've seen some dogs on the property."

  "I'm sure they won't bother me." He nodded and walked down the front steps, looking neither right nor left, as if totally unconcerned about the pack of dogs.

  Rose closed the door and locked it. When she turned to face Taylor, her eyes were hard with displeasure.

  "Why did you have to be so rude!'' she sputtered. ''That man can make or break my career."

  The organ sound dissipated enough to allow Taylor to think and move. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Rose," he gasped. "That client of yours is the man I saw in your aura!"

  "I hardly think so."

  "I'm certain." He hobbled to the window and looked out into the dusk, but he saw only the circular drive and the gardens beyond. "Where did he park?"

  "I don't know. I didn't hear him drive up."

  "Neither did I. I bet he's not going anywhere. I bet he's staying right here at Brierwood." He shut the drapes and turned. "Rose, he immobilized me just by looking at me. I couldn't move or speak."

  Rose crossed her arms, thinking back to the times in the night when she had felt hypnotized and unable to open her eyes. Could Taylor be right about her client?

  "Rose, he is the man in your aura. He is!"

  The possibility that her client and Seth Bastyr were one and the same was too shocking to contemplate. Unsure of what she thought, she lashed out. "Why shouldn't he be in my aura? He's been significant to me, especially since I've been working so hard to get the scarf done. Didn't you say that images of significant people could exist in a person's aura?"

  "Yes, but have you ever met him before?"

  "I've talked to him on the phone a few times."

  "Ever seen him in person, Rose?"

  "No, not until tonight."

  "The figure in your aura was a perfect facial representation of him. How could you know what he looks like if you'd never seen him?"

  "How do you explain his presence in my aura, then?"

  "I think he's put himself there without your consent, like a brand, to mark you or control you."

  Rose stared at him. Her eyes went as wide as the coins on her necklace. "A brand? No," she replied, her voice fading as if she were preoccupied. "No, that isn't possible."

  "He's evil, Rose. His aura is black, totally black. And huge."

  She seemed to hover on the brink of a decision, and then rushed to the stairs as Edgar soared upward in front of her. Taylor followed her to the foot of the stairs and put a hand on the newel post.

  "Rose, there are steps you can take. I've been reading about them."

  She paused at the first landing and looked down. "I’ll tell you what step I am going to take. I'm leaving Brierwood in the morning."

  Before he could reply, she hurried up to the second floor and disappeared down the hall. Taylor sighed. He didn't think running would do her any good, since the man resided in her aura and would go anywhere she went, no matter how far from Brierwood she ran.

  One thing he did know for sure—he wasn't going to sleep tonight, not when that man was roaming around the grounds. Taylor followed her up the stairs, determined to keep her in sight in case the man returned and tried to seep back into her aura. He didn't know exactly what he would do if the man did appear, other than blocking him physically, but he would deal with that problem when the time came. As for now, he had to come up with a reason to spend time with Rose and convince her to pass the night in his room. As he gained the landing, his calf hurt, providing him with an excuse to remain in her company. In spite of the pain, he smiled. He would ask Rose to doctor his leg. She wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to practice her healing arts on his wound.

  Rose spent the rest of the evening packing her belongings. She hated the thought of leaving all her fabric paints and supplies behind, but it would be impossible to take them with her, at least not now. She consoled herself with the fact that if she survived her birthday tomorrow she could always come back and get the rest of her things. She glanced at Edgar and wond
ered if the raven would follow her. She had nothing in which to transport him and knew he would panic at being caged, anyway. If Edgar had to be left behind she would be devastated.

  Just as she decided to turn in for the night, she heard a knock on her door.

  "Yes?"

  "It's Taylor."

  Rose's heart flopped painfully. She longed to confide in him and feel the strength of his arms around her, but she had to keep him safe. And the only way she knew how to do that was to deny her love for him and keep him at arm's length.

  Brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead, she walked to the door and opened it. "Yes?" she asked, wishing her voice wouldn't tremble so much.

  Taylor looked around her. "All packed?"

  "Yes. Bea and I will be leaving bright and early tomorrow."

  "Is there a place where we can forward her paycheck?"

  "No. I don't know where we're going just yet." She wondered why he had come to her door to make small talk. Such behavior didn't seem like him.

  Taylor shifted his weight. "Can I come in for a minute?"

  How could she deny him? Even with his scars, his face was so compelling that she felt a flush of fever wash over her. How would she ever purge that face from her thoughts?

  "Okay, but just for a minute."

  Taylor limped into the center of the bedroom and turned to face her. Next to his tall, broad-shouldered form, her lacy bed seemed fragile and ethereal, as if it floated above the floor. She couldn't imagine him in her bed and wondered if it would hold up beneath his masculine weight. Thinking of the bed, Rose left the door open, hoping he would take it as a sign that she wanted nothing physical to go on between them. To reinforce her resolve, she remained near the door.

  "I was hoping you'd do something for me before you left Brierwood," he ventured.

  "Such as?"

  "Putting that stuff on my leg. You know that plant you told me about?"

  "Plantain?"

  "Yes. That's right."

  "Why now?"

  "My leg's been bothering me more the past few days. And I thought maybe I'd give your herbs a try. What could it hurt?"